(no subject)
Prompt: Scar
Rating/Warning: PG, none
Word Count: 800 in Word
Summary: The mirror is filthy, and he rubs at it with the side of one hand until he can see well enough exactly what it is that’s different: the scar’s gone.
It’s not long after he wakes that the water they’ve been giving him to make sure he doesn’t get dehydrated catches up with him. Show Pony helps him into the bathroom and positions himself outside the door to wait. Frank’s grateful; he can hold on to walls and fixtures in the small room, but getting back to the bed by himself would be another matter entirely.
He pisses and cleans his hands, indulging himself with another handful of water that he splashes over his face, rubbing goo out of his eyes and getting rid of at least some of the sweat and dirt. It’s a small thing that makes him feel a hundred percent better, but it’s when he’s running his hands down his face afterward that he notices something feels off. The mirror is filthy, and he rubs at it with the side of one hand until he can see well enough exactly what it is that’s different: the scar’s gone.
He braces himself on the sink, staring at his own reflection. He still looks sick. There are dark shadows under his eyes that look like bruises, standing stark against too pale skin. His hair is buzzed down close to his scalp, and he grimaces at it, running a hand over it. His hair had been as much a defense as his jacket or blaster, and he feels exposed with it gone.
As he turns his head, frowning at his hair, he catches sight of a shadow on the side of his neck, and something inside him relaxes. He knew well enough his tattoos were still there; the ones on his hands and arms are evidence enough of that. Seeing it in the mirror is still a relief, though. Korse had laid out exactly why they were allowing him to keep the ink, explaining in detail how easily they could remove them. They were a mark of individuality BL/Ind usually didn’t tolerate, as recognizable as his vest or mask or gun, and that was why he got to keep them. They would only serve to frighten the zonerunners even more, making it impossible to deny that the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W agent in front of them was formerly one of their heroes. In the end, though, it had backfired. When the drugs started slipping, the words and images on his skin had only been one more thing to help pull Frank the rest of the way out.
Frank turns his attention away from the scorpion and back to his face, again touching his cheek. He had just been getting used to the scar, picked up when he’d been out gathering information and stumbled into an ambush a few days after Korse had taken Motorbaby. It was healed by the time they made their assault on BLI’s headquarters, and, though he had been self-conscious about it at first - it was the most obvious of all his scars, and the deepest, and people tended to stare at it when they talked to him -, the others had assured him it was badass, and their opinions would always mean more than anyone else’s.
Now, though, it’s gone. Healed like there was never an injury there in the first place, and he lets out a ragged breath. It might actually be something beneficial, but it’s still something BL/Ind did to change him, and he almost wishes it was still there.
There’s a soft knock at the door, and Frank finally looks away from the mirror. “You okay in there, Frankie?”
Pony’s use of his actual name makes him take a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry. I’m done.”
Show Pony pushes open the door, leaning against the door frame, watching him for a moment. It’s obvious enough what the hold up was. “We’ve all got our scars. It wouldn’t hurt any of us to let a few go now and then. They can only change you if you let them, Ghoul.”
Frank takes another breath, letting it out before nodding a few times more than is strictly necessary. “No. No, I know. And they won’t.”
Pony watches him in the mirror for a moment before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Come on. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
Frank lets out a breath of a laugh. It’s true, really, both that he looks it and feels it, and he moves one hand to the wall for support when he finally lets go of the sink. Pony’s right there to support him, and he leans on the other man as they make their way back into the bedroom.
Right now, he doesn’t feel much like himself, when it’s just the four of them in the diner. There are pieces of him missing, pieces as indelible as a scar or tattoo, and he’s got no intention of letting them go.
Rating/Warning: PG, none
Word Count: 800 in Word
Summary: The mirror is filthy, and he rubs at it with the side of one hand until he can see well enough exactly what it is that’s different: the scar’s gone.
It’s not long after he wakes that the water they’ve been giving him to make sure he doesn’t get dehydrated catches up with him. Show Pony helps him into the bathroom and positions himself outside the door to wait. Frank’s grateful; he can hold on to walls and fixtures in the small room, but getting back to the bed by himself would be another matter entirely.
He pisses and cleans his hands, indulging himself with another handful of water that he splashes over his face, rubbing goo out of his eyes and getting rid of at least some of the sweat and dirt. It’s a small thing that makes him feel a hundred percent better, but it’s when he’s running his hands down his face afterward that he notices something feels off. The mirror is filthy, and he rubs at it with the side of one hand until he can see well enough exactly what it is that’s different: the scar’s gone.
He braces himself on the sink, staring at his own reflection. He still looks sick. There are dark shadows under his eyes that look like bruises, standing stark against too pale skin. His hair is buzzed down close to his scalp, and he grimaces at it, running a hand over it. His hair had been as much a defense as his jacket or blaster, and he feels exposed with it gone.
As he turns his head, frowning at his hair, he catches sight of a shadow on the side of his neck, and something inside him relaxes. He knew well enough his tattoos were still there; the ones on his hands and arms are evidence enough of that. Seeing it in the mirror is still a relief, though. Korse had laid out exactly why they were allowing him to keep the ink, explaining in detail how easily they could remove them. They were a mark of individuality BL/Ind usually didn’t tolerate, as recognizable as his vest or mask or gun, and that was why he got to keep them. They would only serve to frighten the zonerunners even more, making it impossible to deny that the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W agent in front of them was formerly one of their heroes. In the end, though, it had backfired. When the drugs started slipping, the words and images on his skin had only been one more thing to help pull Frank the rest of the way out.
Frank turns his attention away from the scorpion and back to his face, again touching his cheek. He had just been getting used to the scar, picked up when he’d been out gathering information and stumbled into an ambush a few days after Korse had taken Motorbaby. It was healed by the time they made their assault on BLI’s headquarters, and, though he had been self-conscious about it at first - it was the most obvious of all his scars, and the deepest, and people tended to stare at it when they talked to him -, the others had assured him it was badass, and their opinions would always mean more than anyone else’s.
Now, though, it’s gone. Healed like there was never an injury there in the first place, and he lets out a ragged breath. It might actually be something beneficial, but it’s still something BL/Ind did to change him, and he almost wishes it was still there.
There’s a soft knock at the door, and Frank finally looks away from the mirror. “You okay in there, Frankie?”
Pony’s use of his actual name makes him take a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry. I’m done.”
Show Pony pushes open the door, leaning against the door frame, watching him for a moment. It’s obvious enough what the hold up was. “We’ve all got our scars. It wouldn’t hurt any of us to let a few go now and then. They can only change you if you let them, Ghoul.”
Frank takes another breath, letting it out before nodding a few times more than is strictly necessary. “No. No, I know. And they won’t.”
Pony watches him in the mirror for a moment before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Come on. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
Frank lets out a breath of a laugh. It’s true, really, both that he looks it and feels it, and he moves one hand to the wall for support when he finally lets go of the sink. Pony’s right there to support him, and he leans on the other man as they make their way back into the bedroom.
Right now, he doesn’t feel much like himself, when it’s just the four of them in the diner. There are pieces of him missing, pieces as indelible as a scar or tattoo, and he’s got no intention of letting them go.